In Time of Daffodils
by simplyleah
Summary: Alice's twin brother Edward has been blind for three years, because of a tragic accident that killed both of their parents, and almost killed him. Edward is alone—and deeply depressed. Is there someone out there for him? Edward/Bella


**I told you guys it was coming! :) I feel pretty great about this one, although, of course, there are a few things nagging me about it. But I'll get over it, because I really wanted to put this one up! Hope everyone likes it! It's a pretty long chapter, which is a first for me for first chapters. Anyway, this story's name comes from the poem IN TIME OF DAFFODILS by E.E. Cummings. It's one of my favorites, and you'll find out why it relates to this story, after you've read it. **

**This story is dedicated to anyone who sometimes feels like they don't quite belong-which, lets face it, is all of us. The fact is, folks, you don't _need_ to fit in. Someone loves us no matter what. **

in time of daffodils (who know  
the goal of living is to grow)  
forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim  
the aim of waking is to dream,  
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze  
our now and here with paradise)  
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond  
whatever mind may comprehend,  
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be  
(when time from time shall set us free)  
forgetting me, remember me

~_In Time of Daffodils, _E.E. Cummings

* * *

_**Alice** _

**Monday, September 6th, 5:15 A.M.**

The moment my alarm goes off on my nightstand, I'm throwing off my covers, hitting the _DISMISS _button, jumping out of bed, and running down the hall to my twin brother's room, so quickly that I'm sure I've set a new record.

I slam the door open, and throw myself onto the empty space of bed next to my brother. I creep a little closer, and whisper in his ear. "_First day of school!" _Or, well, maybe I whisper-yell it. But who's keeping track?

Edward starts, and shoots up in bed. His eyes slip open, and I tap his hand. "What. Is. Your. Problem?" he murmurs, turning his head to me, voice thick from sleep.

"You're my problem, Edward," I tell him, cheerfully. "Didn't you hear me? It's the first day of school!"

"Trust me, Al. I heard you. I just don't understand why that's so great." He falls back against his pillows, eyes closed again. "I'd definitely rather sleep. For the rest of the day."

"I know you would, because you're a wild party animal and didn't go to bed until nine-thirty last night." I sigh. Edward snorts."Do you know what time I went to bed at last night? Twelve-fifty-eight. Do you know why? I had to figure out what I was going to wear all week this week."

Edward raises an eyebrow, something I've always been unable to do. "Well. That's tragic, Al. Now, why don't you go back to your room, and have fun with all of those adorable outfits you picked out?"

"Be-_cause!_" I say, in a sing-song voice. "I'm going to pick out _your _first-day-of-school outfit!"

"Fantastic. And _I'm _going to go back to sleep. Let me know when you're finished." He rolls onto his side, and gives me a gentle shove. "I love you, Al. But I'm dying here. I need to sleep."

"But it's only five fifteen! School starts at—"

"Al. I know what time school starts."

"Fine. _Fine. _But I'm getting you up in thirty minutes."

"That's perfect, Al."

I can't help but smile. As much as my brother irritates me, I love him. "Ah. I can't get over it. First-day-of-schoo-_ool_!"

Edward laughs a little, but I can tell he really is desperate for that sleep. I give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, which he wipes off immediately after, smiling. "See you in thirty minutes, Al."

I just smile wider, and slide off of his bed, making my way downstairs to the kitchen, where my uncle is, reading the newspaper and having breakfast.

"Good morning, Uncle Carlisle!" I sing, and kiss him on the cheek, too. "Where's Aunt Esme?"

"Good morning to you, my dear Alice," my uncle responds, smiling sweetly at me. My uncle is young—thirty two, barely—and I absolutely adore him. He is—was—my mother's brother, with the same striking blonde hair, porcelain skin, and blue eyes. "Your aunt had to go pick up some things at the market for breakfast." He looks me up and down, taking in my pajamas and messy hair. His right eyebrow shoots up. "Early morning, I see?"

"Yes, yes, yes! It's the first day of school!"

Carlisle laughs. "It is, isn't it?"

I smile, and pull out the chair next to him at the kitchen table. "Edward isn't so excited," I say, softly, my smile fading.

Carlisle sets his newspaper aside, and pats my hand. "Your brother is fine," he says. "Don't worry."

I bite my lip. "I can't help it," I say. "You don't see him at school. He hates it. He hates how he can't do anything. He feels them staring, Uncle Carlisle. I can tell."

Carlisle sighs. "Yes, well, it still is new to him, Al." He runs his finger along the top of his coffee mug. "He has an appointment today, after school."

I drum my fingers on the table top. "Every Monday? Again?"

"He needs it, Al. He will, for a while. It's going to take time."

I scratch my arm. Stupid mosquitoes. Stupid rain. "Yeah. Well."

Carlisle looks at his watch. "Ah. I need to be going." Carlisle is a doctor at Forks's hospital. He slides his unfinished coffee over to me, smiling slightly. "Enjoy it. And finish before Esme comes home."

I grin. "Always."

Carlisle stands up, and kisses my forehead. "Have fun at school, Al. Stop worrying. It'll be great."

I raise my eyebrows, because I'm not talented enough to just raise one, like the rest of my family is. "Have fun at work," I tell him, and he just laughs, grabbing his coat from the hanger, wrapping a scarf around his neck for good measure.

"It might snow today, so dress warm. Make sure Edward does, too."

I groan. "Uncle Carlisle! Are you really going to make me reconsider my entire outfit-scheme for the whole week?" Carlisle laughs, and says goodbye one last time, shutting the door before the cold air can get in.

I sigh, but trudge back upstairs, coffee mug in hand, heading into my room. "Stupid snow," I mutter. "Stupid rain." I scratch my arm again, where my bug bite just seems to be getting redder, getting bigger. "Gah."

I pull out the outfit I'd picked for the day; tight-fitting dark jeans, loose long sleeved baby blue shirt with a ruffled front, knit boots, gray sweater, black scarf. I sigh, and switch out the gray sweater for an off-white coat, with a dark fake-fur trimmed hood and a lined inside. I check my watch. It's five –fifty-two. _Shower, _I think. _Shower, shower, shower. _

**6:12 A.M.**

Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed—all but my boots and coat—but still makeup-less. Jasper, the fantastic boyfriend that he is, sent me a "Good morning!" text message at six-seventeen, which just about made my day, and I'm just about to wake Edward up—I've let him sleep _much _longer than I said originally—when he stumbles into my room, looking utterly exhausted.

I laugh. "I don't understand how someone can sleep so much, and still be so tired."

Edward waves me off. "Doesn't matter. Clothes?"

I sigh, but walk up to him, and tap his bare hip; of course, like a lot of boys, my twin brother tends to enjoy sleeping in nothing but his boxers. Edward slips his fingers into my belt loop, although he certainly knows the way to his own bedroom. I squeeze my brother's arm, and he sends a small smile in my general direction. It doesn't take long to get him situated in his jeans, dark green button-up shirt, and light brown pull-over. I take his shoes—loafers, the only thing he'll ever where, whether it's raining, snowing, or we're on vacation in California—and coat into my room, and he follows me. I push him onto my bed, where he sits, dutifully, while I do my makeup, which isn't much (mascara, under-eye concealer, a little bit of eyeliner) and my hair, which is even less (I leave it in its loose curls, _au naturel_, and just pull some hair from the front, and pin it in the back—I cut it to my shoulders over the summer, so there isn't much I can do with it).

When I'm done, Edward and I head back downstairs, him using his cane and me holding my boots, my coat, Edward's loafers, and Edwards coat. Our aunt, Esme, is back, and she's scrambling eggs in the kitchen. Esme—Carlisle's wife—is beautiful. She's thirty-one, and small (just barely an inch or so taller than I am) with long, auburn hair and deep brown eyes.

"Good morning, Aunt Esme!" I exclaim. Edward echoes, not as enthusiastic, but smiling a little.

"Good morning to you," Esme says, grinning. "First day back to school!"

I let out a little squeal. Edward winces, sitting down at the kitchen counter. "I know! I'm so excited! I haven't seen Jasper since before he and his family went to Hawaii two weeks ago!"

Edward does that thing again—raises one of his eyebrows. He has his sun glasses on now, which I think is such a shame; he has the most amazing eyes, so _green_, which I've always been jealous of. My eyes are gray, verging on blue. Other than that, our coloring is mostly the same: reddish-brown hair (although mine is darker than his), and pale, porcelain skin. Edward is also taller than I am—a_ lot _taller than I am. The top of my head is just barely past his shoulders.

Esme laughs. "And you, Edward?"

Edward sighs, but the corner of his lips twitches. "To be honest, Aunt Esme, I'd much rather sleep."

Esme grins. "You did that all summer," she says.

"And I'd love to do it some more."

The eggs are done now, and Esme spoons them onto two plates, for me and Edward. She pours him a glass of orange juice, eyes the mug of coffee—empty now—in my hand distastefully.

"I really wish your uncle would stop trying to sneak you coffee," she says, holding a hand out for the mug. I hand it to her, and grab two forks from the drawer on the other side of the counter. I pass one to Edward, and pull out the bar stool next to him I tap his wrist, and he turns to me.

"Yeah?"

"You have an appointment after school today." Edward's entire face drops and, in spite of the fact that I'm younger than he is (by twelve minutes), my heart breaks for him, even more than it already has. "I'm going to drop you off and go wait at the Starbucks nearby, but we can go somewhere after. And I can bring you a drink."

Edward rubs his temple, and offers a small, miserable smile for me—and I know it's for me, because it's the same smile he gives me every day, the one that says: _I know you're trying, Al. And I appreciate it. But it's not going to change anything. _I squeeze his hand under the table, and glance at the clock above the sink. "I'm going to go brush my teeth," I tell him. "We need to leave in five minutes."

He nods, squeezing my hand back, and then pulling away. I mess up his hair as I walk out of the kitchen, and he just shakes his head good-naturedly. Esme smiles at me, that appreciative smile that she always gives me whenever she sees me with my brother. She leans down in front of Edward, elbows on the counter, watching him earnestly, talking softly to him. I know he can feel her earnest gaze, and stop on the first step, listening to his quiet laugh, Esme's gentle words.

God, I love him. How could anyone make this awful, terrible thing happen to my amazing brother?

I trudge up the stairs, brush my teeth, and then run back down. Edward is standing by the door, loafers and coat on, arms crossed tightly over his chest. I tap the back of his hand, and his arms drop. He picks up his cane, and I slide my feet into my boots, pulling on my coat. Edward latches onto my belt loop again, like he's been doing for the last two years. We walk outside, burrowing deeper into our coats and moving closer together. Carlisle was right about snow; it's definitely cold enough for it. Getting into the car, I watch Edward carefully as he reaches for the handle, having mesmerized where it is.

"It's really bright out today," he murmurs. I look over at him. He can see brightness—"areas of light," as Carlisle calls them—but my heart always skips a beat whenever he comments on it; oh how I wish he could see.

I sigh, and start the car, turning the heater on full blast. "Yeah. It's really cloudy; big, poufy, light gray ones." I start to back out of the driveway, falling into the now-familiar routine: tell Edward about the weather, as many details as I can come up with; go to school, walk Edward to his first class (even though he has to spend hours over the summer, mesmerizing the way to and from all of his classes, and knows exactly where all of them are), meet Jasper in front mine.

**7:32 A.M.**

I kiss Edward on the cheek before I leave; give him a tight hug, too. He inhales the smell of me, like always; after the accident, he told me about how he'd decided the best way to commit someone to memory was to memorize exactly how they smelled, every time you saw them . . . "You never know if you'll ever see them again," he'd said, eyes staring at me, blankly. His green eyes were miraculously clear, a rare case, apparently, but he had dark purple bruise-like circles around both of his eyes, and looked permanently tired. "I remember what mom smelled like," he'd told me, softly, running his fingers over the watch on his wrist, the ancient one that used to be Dad's. "Flowers. Roses, really. Those tiny red ones that she always kept in the living room."

"Lemons," I'd put in, quietly.

Edward, who'd turned his head away before, looked straight at me then—and, for that moment, it seemed like he was seeing me for the first time. Not seeing me, exactly, but _through _me. Like he knew exactly how I felt, exactly what was going through my head. I'd squeezed his hand, and he'd nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Like lemons.

**7:37 A.M.**

Jasper is leaning against the wall of the Arts building, where I have Newspaper first period, when I find him. His face breaks out into a grin when he sees me, and he straightens. I run into his arms, press my lips against his eagerly.

Jasper laughs quietly, his warm, minty breath fanning across my face. "I missed you, too, Al."

I hug him tight, and he hugs me back, holding me in the warmth of his arms until the bell rings. We have seven minutes of passing period though, so Jasper lingers by me, arm around my waist. "How's Edward holding up?" he asks me, eyes narrow with worry. It doesn't bother me that it's my brother he asks about, not me—I know he worries, almost as much as I do.

I sigh, lean my head on his shoulder. "That's it, exactly. He's holding up, Jazz. He's not happy." Jasper leans down, kisses my hair.

"How are _you_?"

"I'm okay. Seeing Edward the way he is makes me so upset, but, otherwise. I'm holding up, too." Jasper pulls me into another hug, kisses me softly on the lips.

"I love you," he murmurs, against my mouth. "That has to count for something."

I smile against his lips. "It does. For everything." I press my lips to his once more, and then he's smiling at me largely, saying he has World Religion with my brother second period, that he'll check up on him for me and text me then.

I call out one last _I love you _to him, and then I have to go into my class room, where I suffer listening to our snippy Editor-in-Chief for fifty-six minutes.

**11:43 A.M.**

I meet Edward and Jasper in the cafeteria, at our usual table. They're talking quietly about something, and murmur quiet _hello_'s to me. I sit across from Edward, next to Jasper. Jasper grabs hold of my hand under the table, not pausing in his conversation.

" . . . it's subjective," Jasper's saying. "It all depends on your personal interpretation of it."

"Well," Edward argues. "I disagree. Science is certifiable—we can see physical proof. Fact is _not _subjective."

"Wait," I cut in. "What are we arguing about?"

Edward sighs, turning to me. "We're learning about Nietzche—he's a German philosopher—in World Religion, which doesn't really make any sense, because Nietzche didn't play any part in religion whatsoever. But anyway, he believed that there is no such thing as fact, only interpretation. Which I disagree with."

"And _I _agree with," Jasper adds. He turns to me. "What we think is true changes as our perspective changes. Think about it. In science, whenever we discover something new, the facts change—when we look at things another way, the facts change. It's all interpretation. People in different countries, and in different religions, believe in similar things—but the facts change with their perspective, with their personal beliefs."

"Right," I say, looking between the two of them. "I never actually thought about that. But—sorry Edward—I think I'm siding with Jazz in this one."

"Oh, wow. That hurts, Al," he jokes.

"Hey," I argue. "Just because you outright don't believe in religion, that doesn't mean you have to drag us down with your atheist attitude."

Edward scowls, and pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. "I'm not atheist. That's offensive. I'm agnostic. They're totally different."

"Oh, god," Jasper says. "_Please _don't start with that lecture again."

"Right," I say, again. "Agnostic. Sorry. My bad."

Edward sighs. "You kind of suck, Al."

Jazz snorts. "She does, doesn't she?" I punch him in the gut, but he barely reacts. He _laughs. _"Did you just punch me? Please tell me that's not the best you can do, babe."

Edward snorts, takes a bite from his slice of pizza. I snatch his apple from his tray, and he sighs exaggeratedly, turning to Jasper. "Did she just take my apple?" he asks. He doesn't wait for an answer, before turning to me, and holding out a hand. "You better give that back."

"Yeah, well. I don't feel like it."

"I don't believe you," he says, mock-serious. "Steal food from your poor, defenseless, blind brother?"

I sigh, and hand him back his apple. "I hate it when you play that card, Edward."

Edward's crooked smile fades, because he knows I'm serious. I look away, the silence that has fallen over our table weighted. Tense. Edward sighs, rolls the apple in between his hands. "I'm sorry, Al. I didn't mean to." I don't respond, and he nudges my foot under the table. "Al. I'm sorry."

I tug at my scarf. "It's fine."

Jasper clears his throat, squeezes my knee comfortingly under the table. "Did you guys hear about the new kid? Chief Swan's daughter?"

"What?" I ask. "There's a new kid? A _girl?_"

Jasper nods. "I have first period with her. European History."

"Oh, where is she?" I look around the cafeteria, trying to spot an unfamiliar face.

Jazz shrugs. "I don't see her," he says. "She's probably talking to teachers, or in the office filling out those stupid surveys they made us do when we were freshmen."

I nod. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"I don't think she knows anyone," he says. "She seemed nice. Quiet. You might want to reel her in before the sharks snatch her."

**12:30 P.M.**

My fifth period class is English—I'm early, and, it turns out, so is Chief Swan's daughter. She's small, like me, only, you know, curvy. She has dark hair, a deep, solid brown that falls down her shoulders in waves, and pale skin. Nothing spectacular, but she's very pretty. Seems sweet, her cheeks flushed nervously.

Mr. Davis says something, and she turns bright red, but laughs softly. "Don't worry about it, Bella," he says, and points over towards where I'm sitting. Students are starting to come into class now, filling up the room. "Sit over there, by Alice. Alice, raise your hand."

Now it's me turning red, but I do it, and Bella smiles sheepishly at me. She says thank you to Mr. Davis, and then starts making her way over to me, trying her best to avoid meeting all of the eyes trained on her.

"Which one's empty?" she asks quietly, gesturing to the empty seat behind me, and the empty seat to my right.

"That one," I say, pointing to the seat next to me. Bella smiles again, and sets her bag down on the floor underneath her desk. I smile at her. "I'm Alice Mason."

"Bella," she says, shyly.

"Are you—well, I'm sure people have been asking you this all day—but you're Chief Swan's daughter, right?"

Bella looks embarrassed. "Er, yeah. That's me."

I laugh. "My uncle, Carlisle, he's the head surgeon at the hospital, so he deals with your dad sometimes. Car accidents and stuff." Bella nods. "Your dad's a really good guy. You're lucky."

Bella smiles. "Yeah, he's great. I missed him."

Mr. Davis starts the class then, passing out the syllabus for the class.

"Welcome to English four Honors," he says, eyes glistening like the devil.

_Chapter 2  
**Bella**_

**6:00 A.M.**

The morning of my first day of school, I wake up to five missed calls, three voicemails, and eighteen text messages from my mom. The first call of the five was at four o'clock in the morning. The second was at four-oh-two. And so forth.

It seems my mom doesn't realize that there is a time difference between Forks, Washington, and Jacksonville, Florida, so when she calls me at six o'clock her time—the time I told her I'd be waking up at—she obviously doesn't factor in that tiny little detail. And all of the voicemails sound just like she does when she calls me; I swear, my mom is the only person in the twenty-first century who talks into her cell phone upside-down.

My dad comes into my room at six-fifteen, making sure that I'm up. When he sees that I'm not only up, but dressed, he grins and kisses me on the forehead, saying that he's sorry he can't have breakfast with me, but he has to be at the office at six-thirty on the dot.

He wishes me luck on my first day, gives me a hug, and then he's out the door.

The problem isn't my dad. The problem is, I just really don't want to be here. And to clear things up: _here _is Forks, Washington. Not _here _with my dad. It was my choice, one hundred percent. I missed my dad, Charlie. A lot. And I wanted to stay with him. I just hadn't quite remembered how depressing a full week of overcast skies was. Or how cold 28 degrees could be.

I just hadn't really thought it through.

**11:43 A.M.**

The whole morning is awful. Nobody talks to me, nobody introduces themselves. But, of course, plenty of people stare at me. This is why I am in the girl's bathroom right now, and not in the cafeteria. I got enough staring in first, second, third, and fourth periods.

And besides. The lady in the office, Mrs. Cope, told me to come in at eleven-fifty to fill out some survey that everyone fills out . . . freshman year. I'm only three years behind everyone else.

I'm only three years short of having any friends.

**12:30 P.M.**

I think I made a friend.

Okay, so we're not friends yet. But she's super sweet, seems to not find me a _complete _oddity, and her name is Alice Mason. I barely know her, but I feel like I could tell her anything. She's the kind of person who actually looks at you when you're talking and asks questions, like she really cares.

English is pretty awful—our teacher, Mr. Davis, is kind of something else. A _bad _something else. But that's okay, I guess, because I liked two of my teachers earlier in the day, and I think that's better than nothing. And having someone to talk to definitely makes up for it.

"We moved here two years ago," Alice is telling me. "It kind of sucked. But at least I have my brother, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Nobody talked to me all morning."

Alice laughs. "Don't worry about it. Come sit with us at lunch tomorrow. I can meet you outside of your fourth period. What do you have?"

"Pre-Cal," I tell her. "I think it's . . ." I glance down at my hand, where I wrote down all of my room numbers, in order. "Room 105."

"Oh, I took Pre-Cal last year. Mr. Adams, right?"

I sigh. "Yeah. He was kind of . . ." A foul word I'm not going to say.

". . . a _beep,_" Alice finishes. "Yeah, I thought so, too." Alice smiles at me.

**12:58 P.M.**

After Alice and I finish with our assignments—reading questionnaires—we turn to each other and start talking again, quietly enough that the buzz of the other students covers it.

"So is it just you and your brother, then?" I ask, because I'm honestly curious. Alice is looking at me earnestly with her large, storm gray eyes, slowly chewing her plush lip like I always do. "No other siblings?"

Alice shakes her head, smiles a sad little smile, showing off perfectly straight teeth. I wonder if she ever had braces. I did. For three years—and those full-on colorless metal-mouth ones that my orthodontist called "high tech". Yeah, right. "Nope, just me and Edward."

Hmm. Edward? Kind of an old-fashioned name, but, then again, so is Alice. Either way, I like it. And I really love this girl—and I'm not saying that just because she's one of the only people who's actually said something to me today. I'm saying that because she seems like the only real person so far today—the only one who isn't a paper doll.

"How old is he?"

"Oh," Alice says, smiling now, happily. "Edward and I are twins. I'm younger than he is, though." Then she scowls. "We only have one class together this year."

I laugh. "I take it you guys are close, then?"

"Yeah. We're really close. He's my best friend."

I sigh in envy, tapping my pencil on my desk. "I'm jealous," I admit. "I've always wanted siblings. I hate being an only child." Which is true. I grew up myself, in my mom's quiet little house in Phoenix, while she was out discovering herself—always a Kindergarten teacher, but also a temporary apprentice at a flower market, a manager at a pottery store, a cashier at the knitting shop, and too many other things to list—and visiting my dad in _his _creaky house here during breaks. Mostly alone. And then in eighth grade, when we moved to Jacksonville because the man Mom was marrying lived there, and I lost all of the very few friends I'd managed to scrounge up over my middle school years, I was pretty much screwed for the first two years of high school, until I was so fed up that I told my mom I wanted to live with my Dad. Great move, on my part.

Alice grins. "Come over whenever you like, then. I'd love to spend some more time with my boyfriend." We both laugh, and I raise my eyebrows in curiosity. "Jasper—my boyfriend—has a class with you, actually."

I perk up. I wonder if I saw him. "What class?"

"First period. European History."

"Huh." I bite my thumb nail. I was kind of preoccupied with embarrassment during that class, because the teacher, Mrs. Foster, had made me introduce myself to the entire class, but I don't tell Alice any of this. "What does he look like?"

"Blonde hair," she says, "blue eyes, tall. Lanky, kind of?" I look at her blankly. She sighs exaggeratedly. "Drop-dead gorgeous?"

I laugh. "Oh, yeah. I totally know the one." I roll my eyes. "I'll look for him tomorrow."

"Yeah, he—" Alice cuts off, her eyes lighting up. "Oh my god! Why don't you come over for dinner?" she asks. I raise my eyebrows again. "No, I'm serious. I can definitely get Jazz to come over. And I'm sure my brother can suffer through one family dinner. My uncle would love it. And your dad could tag along, too."

I smile at her. "You really think that would be okay?"

Alice nods. "Positive! Here, hold on." She leans over, and grabs a pen from her backpack. She hands it to me, and holds out her hand, palm down. "I'll be like you," she teases. "Write your number down, and I'll call you when I get home, after I talk to my aunt about times and stuff."

I do, and Alice smiles wider.

Maybe this move won't end up being as awful as I was beginning to think it would be.

**1:22 P.M.**

My last class is Biology, and, on my way to the class, it starts to snow. Everyone around me talks excitedly, some trying to catch some of it in their hands, others pulling up their hoods and laughing with their friends, not really caring so much. Alice gives me a hug, heading off to her own class, and I suffer the walk back towards the front of campus alone, shuffling through the crowd of students, hands buried deep in my pockets, beanie pulled tight over my ears.

Alone.

Like always.

**_Edward _**

**1:20 P.M.**

I hate not being able to see. I hate that everyone avoids me because of it, or goes out of their way to make me miserable. Not that I'd ever tell my sister about that, but it's true.

My full name's Edward Mason. I'm a sixteen year old junior in high school. I'm blind. Other than that, I'm typical of many of the other sixteen year old juniors in high school—you can't have very many high expectations for me. Aside from those facts, I have to see a therapist every Monday after school, I _don't _have my drivers' license, my last girlfriend was in eighth grade, and I'm in desperate need of a good night's sleep. Nice to meet you.

My uncle, Carlisle, is the best doctor Forks has ever seen, and managed to pull some strings in the front office when Alice and I moved in with them sophomore year, so that I leave class two minutes before the bell rings—that way nobody can trample me, the poor blind boy, on my way to and from classes.

Biology, my last class, is towards the front of the school, parallel to the parking lot, which means that I don't really have far to travel before the last bell. I had Mr. Banner—the teacher—last year for Earth Science. Plus, I'm really only taking his classes because I need the credit, so Mr. Banner lets me sit by myself, and occasionally comes over to "help" me with labs, which really just means him telling me what the results of the lab are, so I can type up an analysis when I go home. Which makes Biology my favorite class of the day, because I have the least interaction with other people. And Mr. Banner is actually nice.

Anyway, it's freezing outside, and the cold is seeping into my bones. I trip a few times, and almost forget where I'm going, though I've committed the layout of the entire school—and the way to all of my classes—to memory after walking my whole schedule about nine times with Alice over summer break. In spite of this, it's still hard; I've gotten lost more than once today.

I think it's going to snow soon. This morning, in the car, when Alice was describing the weather, she mentioned that Carlisle had warned her about the chance of snow—but I hadn't believed her until this afternoon. It's early for snow.

I finally find Mr. Banner's class, and run my hand along the door, searching for the knob. Mr. Banner doesn't have a fifth period class—he never has. I pull the door open slowly, and step inside. The bright light finds its way through the dark curtains that are now my eyes, and I can pinpoint where the light is coming from—the six sets of huge fluorescent lights on the ceiling. It's warm inside though, which makes up for the startling brightness. I can hear Mr. Banner at his desk, the keys clicking at a quick pace.

"Edward!" he exclaims. "My god, you look tall." I hear a chair move, see a vague outline of him come into view. He claps me on the shoulder, hard. "How was your summer?"

I smirk. "Fantastic, Mr. B. And you?"

"Great, Edward. Just great." I can hear the excited smile in his voice, and I wonder if he went on that same kayaking trip in Canada again this summer, but I don't ask. He'll go on about it for the entire class period. "You'll be in the same seat as always, over by the window in the back." Mr. Banner knows not to help me by now, just tells me where, and heads back to his desk, where the typing resumes. "First bell will ring soon, so you may want to hurry on back there."

I nod. "Thanks." I step carefully, holding my cane out in front of me, but the arrangement of the lab tables doesn't seem to have changed, and I somewhat easily maneuver my way around the tables and chairs, until I reach my familiar lab desk. I sit in the chair closest to the wall; there is a window there, and, sometimes, I like to pretend I can see what's out there; every car in the lot, every cloud in the sky. In the end, though, it's still pretending, and I still can't see anything but blurry splotches of lightness and darkness—just distinctive enough for me to tell where they're coming from, and guess at what they are.

The bell finally rings, and I can hear laughter and shrieks coming from outside. Mr. Banner sighs from across the room. "It's snowing," he tells me, matter-of-factly. If only I could see it.

The door bursts open, and the volume of the chatter goes up at least ten more notches. I cringe, and turn to face the window, setting my hand on my chin. Wet shoes squeak on the linoleum floor, and I hear the distinctive rustle of jackets being hung up at the coat rack.

"Edward?" a voice comes, in front of me. Mr. Banner.

I sigh, and turn my head slightly. "Yeah?"

"Edward, I know you enjoy sitting alone, but we have a new student, and she needs somewhere to sit. She'll be working by herself; she'll just be sitting at this table. Sorry, bud."

My heart pounds in my ears. The new girl. Bella. Her father, Charlie, is friends—somewhat—with my uncle, and they work together on occasion; Charlie being Chief of Police, and Carlisle being a doctor at the hospital. He's great—funny, kind of awkward, but great nonetheless. I swallow. "Fine. Alright."

Mr. Banner squeezes my shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

I just nod, trying to picture Mr. Banner in my head. Al says he's in his late twenties; dark, short hair and thick, bushy eyebrows. Olive-toned skin. In my head, though, he's just a faceless figure—a nice guy, sure, but faceless regardless. It takes a few moments, but I hear the chair next to me being slid on the floor, a heavy backpack nudging my shoulder. A short, funny choking noise. It's the girl, and she's sitting next to me. The girl, Bella, groans. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry!" I turn my face in her direction, knowing that, presently, she doesn't know me. Doesn't know about my disability.

I force a flimsy, pathetic smile. "It's fine," I promise. "Don't worry about it."

Her voice is soft—a kind, sweet voice, but strong. I can tell, immediately, that she's one of those quieter girls who are stronger than the louder ones. I can hear her smile when she talks again. "Well, I'm Bella."

"Edward," I say, smiling again, this one less fake.

"Oh! Are you . . . Are you Alice's brother? Edward Mason?"

I can't help but laugh, just a little. "So I take it you met my sister?"

Bella laughs, too. "Yeah. Last period. I love her."

I sigh. "Me, too, as annoying as she is."

Bella laughs again. I hear her setting her notebooks down on the table, zipping her backpack shut. I'm tempted to ask her about the snow, but I know that she's not Alice, and that I'd like to pretend, just for a little longer, that I'm normal. She really doesn't know the difference yet.

"So. Have you had Mr. Banner before?"

"Mm. Yeah. Earth Science, last year. He's my favorite teacher."

"Oh," she says, surprise coloring her tone. "That's great. I haven't gotten many great teachers so far."

I grin. "You just had class with Al? Was it English?"

"Ahhh," she groans. "Yes! With Mr. Davis? He's awful!"

I laugh, my hands on my knees. I rub the fabric of my jeans, wishing to see her face. To know who, exactly, is Bella Swan. Does she look like Charlie, who Alice has described to me countless times? Dark hair, dark eyes, light skin? Or does she look like her mother, whom I know nothing of? She could have bright blue hair and orange eyes, and I wouldn't know. "Absolutely. He didn't make such a great first impression in my class, either."

I can feel her smile in the air, sense the easiness of our conversation. My heart aches with desire for things to stay like this, for her to not know, for my disability to not ruin whatever friendship I have the possibility of developing with this girl. For her to not know, who, exactly, is Edward Mason.

**_Bella_**

**2:16 P.M.**

Alice's brother is attractive. And I don't just mean _attractive. _I mean, full-time hottie. His hair is sloppy, a reddish-brown that makes him look somewhat bedraggled, and perfectly white skin, not a blemish in sight. He's wearing a neat green pullover, and keeps on fiddling with his fingers. One of the first things I notice, though, is the fact that he wears sunglasses—inside, need I remind you—and seems to avoid turning in my—or anyone else's—direction. Even when Mr. Banner stands in front of the class, Edward's face is turned towards the window, which gives a perfect view of the parking lot. I can spot my car from here, a faded red Chevrolet truck that Charlie bought for me as a homecoming present. Mr. Banner doesn't comment on Edward's behavior, and doesn't call on him once. He even calls on _me_—in spite of it being the first day of school, and everyone technically being "new", teachers have been cutting me some slack because, honestly, I'm the first kid to move here since Alice and Edward did, two years ago.

By this point, though, I'm glancing at the clock every few seconds, writing my "Expectations" paper for the school year in this class, and glancing at Edward furtively. He's the only person in the whole class who isn't doing the assignment, but I decide not to ask him. He also doesn't have a lab notebook out, or a black pen. _Four minutes,_ I think. _Just four more minutes. _I'm dying to get out of here, to go home, make myself a snack, and collapse onto my bed. And then it strikes me: Alice invited me over to her house. Oh, god. Will I ever get to go to sleep? My eyelids feel suspiciously heavy, and I've begun to rest my cheek on the table as I write out my paper.

And just imagine needing to call my mother . . . I'm stressing out already. I yawn hugely, and Edward turns to me, but it's really only a little tilt of his head. I completely botch the essay, telling myself that I'll write it tonight. It's not due until tomorrow, anyway, and I already took this class when I was a freshman, in Jacksonville. I appreciate how Edward hasn't asked me how I like Forks, or where I moved from—I had enough people ask me that today. I slide lower down in my chair, putting my hands in the pockets of my sweater. I lean my head against the back of the plastic blue chair, and shut my eyes. Wow, school sucks. And so does waking up at six o'clock in the morning. My eyes snap open moments later, though, when Edward's chair squeaks next to me. I narrow my eyes at him; he's standing up and putting on his backpack, grabbing a cane-looking thing from the floor. He walks over towards Mr. Banner, who smiles at him, and says something. Edward disappears out the door, and I'm left wondering. Wondering, and waiting for a realization that will never come to strike me.

* * *

**Well, I hope everyone liked it! The next chapter should be up as soon as I get started on the third one. More development on Bella's character should be coming soon. She's not a paper doll, so keep that in mind. She'_s _a little bit of all of us. **

**simplyleah**

**PS: Please review! Reviews make us writers happy. I know it, you know it. :)**


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